


Kill Your Darlings

by rubix



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Horror, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Minor Blood and Gore, Minor Character Death, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubix/pseuds/rubix
Summary: Keith returns to the place he first met Shiro ten years earlier in order to put his painful past to rest and move on. Despite the good memories this home holds on to, the malevolence residing there isn’t ready to say goodbye.Eternal Eclipse Zine Submission 2017





	Kill Your Darlings

**Author's Note:**

> _Submission for[Eternal Eclipse](https://twitter.com/darkvoltronzine): A Voltron Legendary Defender Horror Zine (2017)_

**Kill Your Darlings**

* * *

 

The car dips and bounces unsteadily over deep fissures in the weathered pavement he pulls into the long, winding driveway. As it slows to a stop, Keith leans over the dash to get a better look at the house and frowns. It’s strange that it looks much larger now than it had when he was a boy. His heart sinks a bit when he realizes that it’s still structurally sound and standing after all these years. Part of him was hoping it wouldn’t be. 

It's not to say the home hasn't seen better days, though. What was once a bright white paint is now a sickly grey; bubbling and peeling away. The rest of the walls are covered in thick, overgrown vines. Tall, square windows are boarded up with deteriorating wood planks or otherwise broken. The manicured lawn, once a lush green, is now a yellowed, overgrown mess. Weeds sprout out of cracks in the stairs and piles of dead leaves make the air smell of earthy rot. To his left is the now-dying willow tree that he and Shiro would sprawl under, seeking refuge in its shade from the sticky summer heat. Beside it is the lake, now a dark and murky black.

There’s a pang in his chest. He realizes he’s been gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles have turned white.

_ I should never have come back here. _

_ "You have to return to your past, Keith,” his therapist tells him. “You must say goodbye and put this guilt to rest.” _

“Easier said than done,” he mutters as he climbs out of the car and shuts the door behind him. He can remember arguing that this wasn't going to help with the nightmares; that coming back here was going to help with the pain. His therapist insisted otherwise.

_ “Enter the building, walk through the halls. Feel the warm embrace of the all the good memories you had there.” _

Keith stands for a moment at the foot of the stairs leading into Saint Anne’s Institute for Boys and closes his eyes. He can feel his features pulling pensive as he tries to gather images from his past.

_ Remember the good. _

Keith lets himself travel backwards in time. He’s behind the house, surrounded by thick forestry. At a crackling campfire, the boys are roasting treats on twigs they’ve found. He can smell the sugar, can almost taste it on his tongue. It's sometime in the early spring, the last of the snow has melted, and it's warm enough to sit outside. Keith hasn't been here that long, but he's made a few friends. One boy, in particular, has been really kind to him. 

_ Patience yields focus,  _ the boy tells him as Keith burns his fifth marshmallow. His name is Shiro, and he sits beside Keith, his face illuminated by the soft orange glow of the fire. Keith makes a face at the statement, wisdom as profound as this seems odd being taught under the circumstances, but he is grateful for it anyway. Shiro laughs and Keith holds onto this moment a second longer, replaying the way the ends of his mouth curve into a smile, watching as the other boy’s eyes crinkle in the corners. Revelling in the flare of heat that spreads through his veins as Shiro’s hand clasps over his. It's inexplicable but here in this boy, he's found hope. Keith finally feels safe. He finally feels like he's  _ home _ .

The next memory clicks in like he's watching a slideshow. The scenery has changed and it's summer, six months after Keith's arrival. The sky is bright blue and cloudless. Sunlight sparkles off the lake. The large willow tree beside the house is thriving; it's branches like curtains, behind which he and Shiro would often hide from the overbearing sun. The other boys are rowdy, wrestling or playing some kind of sport, either way, they're as loud and boisterous as ever. Keith doesn't mind the noise; it all begins to meld with the low drone of the cicadas chirping. His head slips onto Shiro’s shoulder as he's lulled into a lazy slumber.

Suddenly the sun falls behind the peaked roof and the front yard is cast in shadow. The wind picks up, and the old tired swing screeches as it sways on rusted hinges. Autumn leaves skitter across the driveway and barren trees stretch across the yard, their decaying branches reaching out like bony, gnarled claws grasping for eternal youth. 

There's a tightness around his hand where there shouldn't be and when Keith glances down, his eyes are lead up a bloated arm, splotched a sickly purple. It's Shiro. His eyes are waxed over in thick, milky yellow cataracts and his jaw is unnaturally unhinged like it's caught on a soundless scream. Keith tries to wrench his hand free but the grip on his hand tightens as it begins to pull him down towards its mouth. It's saying something Keith can't hear and the smell of decay is overwhelming.

“Get off!” he cries desperately as he begins prying the slimy fingers away from his hand. The thing’s mouth opens wider, making a sound now; a keening, stuttering whine as its mouth gets larger and larger. Keith is inches from Shiro's face. It's jaw drops to the ground, plopping into a putrid puddle and several large roaches scatter out from the gaping black hole.

Keith makes a strangled sound and opens his eyes, shaking his head as if the violent motion will rid him of the image faster.

It doesn't.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his mind spins as he attempts to grasp onto the present. He feels like he's going to be sick, in fact, it takes everything in him not to expel the contents of his stomach over the broken cement stairs. 

Once he's gained some semblance of composure, Keith whirls around and surveys the grounds. There's nothing or no one here.

He looks to his car and thinks about running. This isn't a good idea, no matter how much his therapist thinks it is. Anxiety gnaws at his gut until it feels raw, his chest tight, his clothes damp with sweat. He wants to leave so badly, but Keith isn't sure how much longer he can live like this.

_ Shiro never gave up on me,  _ he thinks. It gives him a sliver of courage, enough that he clenches his fists in determination and hikes up the stairs to the heavy double doors.

They've been left ajar as if everyone left in a hurry without a second look back. After all, no one could have prepared themselves for that grisly day.

Keith gingerly pushes one of the doors open.

Inside it's dark, but with time, Keith's eyes adjust with the aid of little light that filters through openings in the wood boarded on the windows. The foyer is still furnished with the original decor except time has ripped and stained the upholstery. It smells of mold and mildew. The staircase leading to the second floor looks unsafe, but Keith walks up anyway, carefully planting a foot on each step, sliding his hand up the dust-crusted wooden rail. He experiences a wave of nostalgia as the stairs groan under his weight, remembering the times he and Shiro would sneak downstairs for a late night snack. They would avoid each weak point expertly, taking pride in stealth that rivalled covert ops agents, even though they failed at containing their giggling.

A smile pulls at Keith's lips but it's only for a moment as a rat scurries across the floor, startling him. His heart leaps into his throat.

Aside from that, the halls are quiet. All the doors are closed, shutting in the secrets each room holds within their walls. Flushed cheeks and fingers entwined. A whispered confession under a single bed’s shared covers. His first kiss on a window seat bathed in moonlight.

The unnoticed disappearances.

It was common, they said, for the wayward teenage boys that ended up here too often run away. Most of them were orphaned or discarded; kids that wouldn’t be missed if one or two of them happened to vanish without a trace.

Shiro was different.  _ He wouldn’t leave me.  _ They were each other’s future.

Keith rests his head against the door and he’s flooded with memories. It’s been two months since Shiro’s disappearance. There’s commotion outside, but he’s told to stay inside along with the other children. In his gut, he can feel there is definitely something wrong, something they’re not telling him. It’s been hours, and no one says a word, but the feeling of dread begins to weigh too heavily and Keith needs to know for himself. He manages to climb out a window and down a trellis on the side of the house. First, he sees the blurring blue and red; the bright yellow tape. Cars are parked everywhere and their tire treads have left vulgar scars along the pristine lawn. Keith’s stomach is tied in knots, his heart begins to pound. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach as he races over to the crowd that surrounds the willow tree.

_ “Stay back, kid. You don’t wanna see this.” _

He looks anyway.

Several masses wrapped neatly in crisp white stretch across the rocky shores as they dredge the lake beside the house. It takes a minute for it to dawn on Keith that these are  _ bodies. _

The breeze carries an odour of noxious rot; it clings to the insides of his nostrils until he can almost taste it in the back of his throat. He looks then — a corner flaps, and he sees a boy with a missing arm. His silvery eyes are open, flatly staring at infinite nothingness, yet staring right at him. Then they blink.

Keith vomits. Again and again and when he thinks he’s finished he throws up again, heaving until he has nothing left in his stomach to expel. His hair is matted to his head, his stomach aches raw, his cheeks are tacked with damp salty grit. He wipes the bile and spittle from his mouth on the back of a gloved hand, only to slam it angrily against the door as he lets out a cry of anguish.

“I hate you!” he screams, hitting the door again. “You weren’t supposed to leave me! I hate you, I hate you!” But he doesn’t. Not really. He hates himself for not seeing the pattern sooner. He hates himself for not doing more _. _

He hates himself because he’s still  _ here _ .

Heaving a broken sigh, Keith presses his palm softly against the door. “I never stopped looking for you,” he says, deluding himself into believing that Shiro is on the other side of it. “But I —” and he has to stop to choke back a sob, to brush away the tears brimming in the wells of his eyes. “But I,” he sniffles, “finally found you.” He laughs bitterly. “It was just too late.”

A scraping sound comes from inside the room and Keith jumps back, jerking his hand from the door.

“Too late,” a voice mimics, disembodied and distorted but no doubt coming from the other side of the door.

Keith’s breath comes out in shallow huffs, his heart races. He stares at the door wide-eyed in disbelief, unable to make a sound. He’s unsure if he wants to. But he does, after a moment, because he can’t stop himself from hoping, even if it’s the most absurd belief he’s had in awhile.

“S-Shiro?” He waits. There is only silence.

He lifts a hesitant hand to the door and tries the knob only to be met with resistance. Without conscious thought, he begins hitting the door with his fist until the edge of his hand aches. 

“Shiro? If that’s you, answer me,  _ please! _ ”

There’s movement in his peripheral. Keith whirls around to find that nothing is there. The corridor seems to stretch on for miles, but he knows that he’s only a few feet from the stairs. He turns attention back to the door and waits for a few minutes. Nothing more happens to make him believe he isn’t alone. 

_ Being in this place and having such intense emotional reactions to the memories must be messing with me _ , Keith thinks.  _ The sooner I say goodbye, the faster I can get out of here. _

Keith stares at the door in silence, chewing on his bottom lip. He can’t seem to bring himself to say anything; somewhere in his mind he still thinks if he stays quiet enough, maybe he’ll hear that voice again. Maybe he’ll hear Shiro.

He doesn’t.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, Keith turns from the door to leave and freezes. Something moves in the shadows.

His heart stalls to a stuttering stop and his stomach drops. Keith can’t make out a shape but he can make out a large mass in the hallway on the other side of the staircase. It absorbs all the light surrounding it as if it were some sort of black hole, only shaped like a man. He opens his mouth to speak but can offer no sound to form around words. The atmosphere is suddenly so dense with malice that Keith can’t seem to even breathe.

A long, groaning creak comes from behind him; the sound of a door opening enticingly slow as if it were beckoning him to take a peek inside. Keith won’t take his eyes off the thing in front of him.

Without warning, his legs begin to move towards the stairs. They’re so close —  _ if he could just get to them before — _

His knees begin to buckle as gravity pulls him from below. Keith doesn’t dare take another step. The hollowed sound the soles of his shoes make against the wanned wood floors is as unwelcome as his presence. He can already feel it.

The hair on the back of his neck bristles; someone’s whispering — breath slicing skin like a sharp, wintry wind. He opens his mouth to speak once more and shuts it when the edges of naked fingertips press in around his shoulder, one by one.

Terror crawls down his spine as lips ghost his skin, leaving behind a trail of something wet and slippery, thick like vile sludge. He can feel stagnant water trickling down his neck, stalling in the wells of his collarbones. The fetid stench makes his stomach lurch and bile crawl up his throat. It whispers his name along the shell of his ear.

The thing in the shadows begins to fold in on itself; its form shifts with a disgusting  _ pop  _ and sickening tear until the creature is lying flat on the floor. Spindly protrusions begin to form; one, two, three, four, more. Too many limbs for just a man. The spuming thing behind him tells him that it’s not. They begin to jut out and snap in half, the visceral crack of each one ripping through the silent space. The thing raises itself on the spindles and teeters forward, almost as if this is its first step. It jerks into another, and another, only stopping to sway for a fraction of a second before spasmodically twitching its way towards Keith at a speed too quick; too impossible for it to be human.

He cries out as he attempts to lift his feet cemented to the floor to no avail. Keith is in full panic now, his chest getting tighter and tighter each time he tries to draw breath. He has to move fast if he’s going to escape before the thing on the other side of the staircase catches up but the thing  _ behind  _ him won’t allow him to. Keith’s body twists in agony as it tries to drag him backwards. He reaches out and grasps at air, desperately struggling to be free of its grip. His arm locks and his shoulder is torn out of his socket. Keith howls as white-hot heat sparks under his skin, igniting a fire in his synapses, momentarily blinding him.

Hollowed clacks against the wood approach with rapid succession, forcing Keith to bite through the searing pain. He opens his eyes but it’s too late, the creature is right in front of him, riding on its hind limbs.

“I want to go home,” Keith chants as if somehow these magic words and a few clicks of his heels will take him back to the sanctity of his own.

It begins to take the form of a featureless man with the exception of a wide, stretched grin. An acrid smelling darkness consumes Keith, leaving him utterly immobile. His skin is slick with sludge and sweat, his hair falls flat in damp ringlets. The entity behind him no longer tries to pull him away. Instead, he feels it’s ghastly embrace; feels the cold skeletal hands slither underneath his t-shirt and slide across his stomach. He’s trapped between the two of them now and he can already feel his heart begin slow into a rhythmic stop as he allows himself to surrender. The creature’s grin widens until it breaks through the confines of its makeshift face, opening until the entire head becomes a gaping mouth lined with rows of thin, razored teeth. Keith closes his eyes and exhales, bracing himself for what he knows is coming next.

He jolts as the thing’s pointed limbs pierce his flesh, sinking in through muscle and wedging between his ribs. He can hear his last breath being snatched away in a sharp gasp and heat from the creature’s breath as its mouth fits over his head and the creature’s teeth pierce his throat.

The last thing Keith hears is Shiro’s voice as he croons, “You’re already home.”


End file.
